


Superjacent

by xRabbitx



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blood, Blow Jobs, Light Angst, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Short One Shot, Trans Roadhog | Mako Rutledge, Well there's a little plot I guess, only a little bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 03:45:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11176332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xRabbitx/pseuds/xRabbitx
Summary: (so͞o′pər-jā′sənt)adj.Resting or lying immediately above or on something or someone else.Roadhog and Junkrat are hiding and waiting for nightfall so they can rob the Banco de Dorado.





	Superjacent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vyrv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vyrv/gifts).



> reapurring requested some Junkrat and Roadhog stuck in a small space together, and well, this is what happened. They also expressed a liking for when Hog refers to Junkrat as "boss", and Rabbit remembers these things ;)  
> Anyway, it was supposed to just be straight up porn, but the Roadhog I write thinks a LOT about everything, so hehe, there's a lot of that. But hey, there actually is a bit of porn, too!
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

*

 

            “I swear to god, if you knee me in the dick one more time…”

            “M’sorry, mate! Ain’t doin’ it on purpose, y’know!”

            “I don’t give a shit, just stop it. Stop squirming!”

            “But I’m bored!”

            “This was your idea, brainiac!”

            “I know that, ya drongo, but I didn’t count on it being this hot, did I?”

            “Why the hell not? This is Mexico! In the middle of summer! Of course it’s going to be hot!”

            “Shut yer yackin’, someone’ll hear us!”

            Mako has to take a deep breath and silently count to 10 not to outright strangle Junkrat; they’re crammed into the back of a small truck parked outside the Museo de Historia de Dorado, waiting for the night to fall and the streets to clear. No one is going to suspect an innocent truck parked on the street to contain two of the world’s most wanted criminals, and they can use the truck as a getaway vehicle afterwards. It’s simple and pretty brilliant, like most of Junkrat’s plans are, but there’s a minor problem; the truck Junkrat had had a lead on didn’t come through, so they had to grab what they could get their hands on short notice, and not only does this truck have a much smaller engine and fewer horsepower, it’s also a lot smaller than the truck Junkrat had had in mind. So instead of lounging around in a nice, air-conditioned trailer, they’re now literally stuffed into a tiny, overheated box of death, slowly going insane while the scorching Mexican afternoon sun is steadily turning the box into a pressure cooker. Mako is on his back, legs bent and arms by his sides, and Junkrat is on top of him, using Mako’s broad chest as a desk as he pours over the crude map he has drawn. In the crate digging into Mako’s hip, Junkrat has collected enough explosives to level the entire town. They’ve been here for hours now, and they’re both getting antsy and sore. The air in here is void of oxygen, and the temperature is climbing and climbing. At one point, Junkrat had to put the map away, because the sweat on Mako’s chest had been soaking through the paper. So now Junkrat has nothing to do, and that’s never a good thing. Mako can tell, he can fucking tell that Junkrat is one second away from spontaneously combusting. He’s usually always on edge before a heist, and that he has to be quiet and still is probably the worst thing that could have happened. He has propped himself up on his elbows on Mako’s chest, legs bent up and foot wriggling in the air. He’s humming some melody, scattered and off-key, and he’s tapping out the choppy rhythm with his flesh fingers on his mechanical elbow. Mako can’t see much—it’s almost pitch black in here except for the late afternoon sunlight spilling through a small hole at the top left corner like a thin, orange laser beam—but he can feel how Junkrat’s head jerks left and right as if he’s looking at something.

            “What’re you doing?” Mako grunts when the constant movement is getting too annoying.

            “Eh?”

            “You’re moving your head all the time. What’re you looking for?”

            “I was just takin’ a look ‘round the vault.”

            Mako sometimes forgets that Junkrat has photographic memory, which is extremely useful when you’re in the heist business and when you can’t draw maps for shit (which Junkrat can’t). He had managed to get into the vault a few days ago, posing as an eccentric billionaire who wanted to buy a box in the vault. The clerk had been stupid enough to let him come into the vault (Mako is often impressed with Junkrat’s acting and persuasion skills—on the other hand, he did manage to persuade Mako to team up with him, didn’t he?), and Junkrat had gotten a good look around. He knows every inch of that place now, and Mako half wishes he could see Junkrat’s face as he takes his mental stroll around the vault they’re going to be robbing in a few hours.

            “Lay out the plan again, boss,” Mako says, shifting a bit so he can prop the back of his head up against the wall of the trailer even though he can’t see anything in the darkness. It’s half a ploy from Mako to distract Junkrat from bursting into flame from pent up energy, half the genuine delight he takes in listening to Junkrat talking plans and schemes. Junkrat’s main talent is explosions, big and small (but mostly big), but it would be a filthy, filthy lie to say he isn’t at least as skilled at planning shit. Even though Mako can’t see Junkrat’s face, he can tell from the way Junkrat’s voice goes a bit lighter that he’s thrilled to get to go over the plan once again.

            “Right, okay,” he says, shifting on Mako’s belly. “So we wait until the clock strikes midnight—bell tower on that church should tell us—and then we sneak up to the museum. We blow a hole in the court yard wall, and then we dig, dig, dig, and _then!_ Treasure!” Junkrat draws out the route on Mako’s chest in the dark, giggling happily.

            “And the guards? There will be guards, won’t there?” Mako asks. He already knows the answer to the question, but he knows how much Junkrat likes this, so Mako lets him have this small pleasure.

            “The noise is likely to attract a few guards or some of the ol’ boys in blue,” Junkrat snickers, “and that’s where you and those bulgin’ muscles yer carryin’ ‘round with ya come in handy, Hoggers, my son! Use some of that brute strength I hired you for, and then…” he giggles frantically and squirms on top of Mako, “I’ll blast ‘em all to kingdom come! Ka-boom-boom!”

            “Good plan, boss,” Mako hums, and he can’t help but smile behind his mask; he knows how much Junkrat loves praise.

            “Say again?”

            “Good plan.”

            “Again?”

            “What are you, deaf?”

            “Only 27 percent, mate!” Junkrat huffs and giggles. “Nah, I just like hearin’ ya say it, is all.”

            Mako is about to complain that he’s not Junkrat’s personal record player, but then he feels something that definitely wasn’t there a moment ago poking against his belly.

            “Really? _Really?_ ” Mako groans, rolling his eyes behind his mask.

            “What?”

            “You’re really getting horny because I’m complimenting your plan?”

            “Oh, heh.” Junkrat snorts, and Mako swears he can almost make out the blush that has to be blossoming on Junkrat’s cheeks in the dark. “I’m just dead chuffed ya like me plan, mate.”

            “I’ll fucking say. Your stonker is digging into my gut.”

            “Stop bein’ so crass, ya bastard!”

            “You’re the one basically dry humping my belly, you pervert!”

            “Don’t say it like that,” Junkrat huffs, and he shifts on Mako’s belly, the hard length pressing against Mako’s belly button. “Yer makin’ it sound so dirty.”

            “It _is_ pretty dirty.”

            Punishment comes swiftly and efficiently when Junkrat twists one of Mako’s nipple rings. Mako grunts in pain and grabs Junkrat’s hand (it’s the flesh one, thank god) to pry his fingers away.

            “What was that for?” Mako winces, rubbing his free hand over his sore nipple.

            “Here I was tryin’ to seduce ya, and then ya go and ruin it!” Junkrat argues, shifting a bit again and his pointy knee narrowly misses Mako’s dick.

            “You were trying to seduce me by humping my gut?” That’s probably the weirdest way yet Junkrat has tried to get sex out of Mako, and Junkrat has tried many, many different tactics. All of them have involved explosions. Not this one, though, which makes it stand out, and it is having a certain effect on Mako, because so what? It’s not like he’s made of stone.

            “Shut up, ya fruit loop, yer makin’ me embarrassed!” Junkrat whines, and he hides his face against Mako’s chest which seems excessive since Mako can’t see shit in the dark.

            Mako sighs.

            “Boss?” he grunts.

            “What?” Junkrat mumbles into the hairs on Mako’s chest.

            “How long have we known each other?”

            “Dunno,” Junkrat replies, lifting his head and resting his chin on Mako’s tit. “Four years? Five?”

            “Mh,” Mako hums. “And how many times’ve we rooted in those four or five years?”

            Junkrat is quiet for a while, but Mako knows he’s grinning as the memories come flooding back to him.

            “Hundreds! Thousands!” he giggles. “If yer countin’ mouth and handjobs as well.”

            “Okay, so why d’you keep trying to seduce me?” Mako asks, one of his big hands idly straying to Junkrat’s lower back. “Like you gotta talk me into it.”

            “Two sticks should be enough for that wall, don’tcha think? Don’t wanna make the house come down, haha! That’d be stupid. D’ya think them guard will be trigger happy or like little mouses? Don’t wanna get shot again! No more losing limbs, right? Got two good’uns left, don’t wanna lose ‘em. I’d be like a babe, right? No walking, only crawling. Hoggy’d have to feed me and carry me.”

            Mako isn’t sure if Junkrat does this deliberately or not, but any time they brush a subject that makes him uncomfortable or that he doesn’t want to talk about, he veers off into a stream of consciousness, leaping from thought to thought with a speed high enough to make Mako feel lightheaded and slightly out of breath. He considers forcing Junkrat back on the subject for a moment, but then abandons the idea. This isn’t the time and place for deep conversations—it rarely is when you’re a wanted criminal. Junkrat keeps talking, and by the time Mako checks back into the one-sided conversation, Junkrat has somehow talked himself onto the subject of milk and how human beings are the only animals to drink other species’ milk. Mako tunes out again, limiting his responses to the occasional grunt.

            It’s a couple of hours later—Junkrat has finally managed to talk himself dry, and he has fallen into soft mutterings about other banks, other treasure troves, he wants to hit—when Mako’s stomach growling is getting so loud that it feels like the car is vibrating. Junkrat never eats unless Mako reminds him, and it’s still a wonder to Mako how Junkrat managed to stay alive before they met. The kid’s metabolism is through the roof, and he should rightly be eating at least once every two hours, but of course he doesn’t, which is why he’s so skinny that Mako is sometimes worried he’ll snap to two like a twig.

            “Time for eating,” Mako grunts, and he pushes himself up to sit with his back against the side of the trailer. He groans as he can finally stretch out his legs a bit, and he reaches down to rub his aching calves while Junkrat digs out their provisions. Two packs of salt crackers and a can of baked beans.

            “We’ll be livin’ like kings once we’ve cracked this egg open, Hog,” Junkrat says as he hands the crackers to Mako and starts working on the opening the can with a pocket knife. “Whatever we want, whenever we want it! That’s the way to live.”          

            Junkrat has changed a lot since he and Mako had first arrived in the civilized world. Back then Junkrat had mainly been concerned with wreaking as much havoc as he possibly could, but the more time they had spent here, the more Junkrat had become influenced by the surroundings. He still wants to create chaos and mayhem wherever he goes, but his goal now also include getting rich and living “the sweet life” as he calls it (Mako suspects that “the sweet life” for Junkrat is what other people here would consider the bare necessities like a relatively constant supply of food and drink and a roof over your head). Mako highly doubts that Junkrat would be able to stick to a sweet life like that, though. For a man who is unable to sit still, neither mentally nor physically, for more than five minutes, a quiet life in a nice house would quickly become tedious, and if there’s one thing Mako knows Junkrat can’t stand, it’s tediousness.

            “Right, boss,” Mako hums, tearing into the first packet. He eats a couple to stave off the worst hunger, then splits the crackers evenly between Junkrat and himself—well, he makes it look even; Junkrat needs the calories a lot more than Mako does, so Mako always makes sure to make Junkrat’s portion a bit bigger. Junkrat never pays enough attention to notice.

            Junkrat mumbles something about bathing in the ocean through a mouthful of crackers as he pries the lid of the can open with the edge of the knife. “Whoopsie!”

            Of all the places Junkrat could have put his hand, this is probably one of the worst; right in the pulp of his thumb. It takes a while for Mako to even figure out what has happened, because he can’t see a damn thing, and it’s not until Junkrat finds their shitty old flashlight and bathes the room in a dull, orange-ish light that Mako can see what’s going on. By then the blood is already trickling down Junkrat’s wrist and arm.

            “What the hell?” Mako blurts out, quickly looking around for something to stop the bleeding. There’s nothing, so he has to empty one of the many pockets on his pants so he can rip it off and use the fabric as a bandage.

            “Me knife slipped,” Junkrat explains, trying to lick his hand clean.

            “Fuck, don’t do that, it’s too much blood,” Mako groans, grabbing Junkrat’s arm and yanking it away from him. Junkrat grins at Mako through bloody teeth.

            “Afraid of blood, mate? That’s weird. S’just blood. Thought you’d seen plenty of it.”

            “I’m not fucking afraid of blood,” Mako grunts as he rips the pocket fabric into strips to bandage Junkrat’s bleeding thumb. He’s not lying; Mako has seen plenty of blood in his life, and not much of it has been his own. More than once, Mako has—in the heat of battle—smeared his enemy’s blood on his face and chest to appear even more ferocious. It’s not a matter of the blood, no, it’s more a matter of who is bleeding it. Just like he has seen plenty of his enemies’ bloody, Mako has also seen plenty of his friends’ blood. Far too much of it.

            “Don’t like when people I like are bleeding,” Mako mutters, almost whispers, as he wraps the makeshift bandages tightly around Junkrat’s thumb to stop the bleeding. Then he finds his canteen and opens it to use the water to wash away the blood on Junkrat’s arm. He would have liked to save the water, but he can’t really stomach the thought of having Junkrat’s blood smeared everywhere. He swears under his breath as the water splashes over Junkrat’s arm and drips bloody water onto Mako’s pants. That will never wash out.

            “Eh? What?” Junkrat blinks at him in the dull glow from the semi-flickering flashlight in his mechanical hand.

            “Hm?” Mako doesn’t look up from what he’s doing.

            “Yer—you like me?”

            Mako can feel his cheeks go warm—well, warmer, because it’s like a goddamn sauna in here. It’s usually Junkrat who doesn’t realize when he’s saying things out loud.

            “No,” he grunts. “Forget what I said.”

            “What? No way, mate!” Junkrat says, pushing up to his knees to lean closer to Mako. “Ya can’t take somethin’ like that back.”

            “Can, too.”

            “Cannot!”

            “Shut up and sit still,” Mako huffs as he finishes washing Junkrat’s arm. He checks that the bandages are still in place, then lets go. Junkrat has stopped pressing the matter, but he’s smirking in that way that makes Mako uncomfortable. They share the rest of the food in silence; the air is getting thicker and warmer, and Mako is getting increasing sweatier. Junkrat isn’t sweating, because the kid has no pores apparently, and he doesn’t look to be bothered much by the heat at all.

 

*

 

It’s ridiculous, and they’re jeopardizing the entire heist, but apparently that doesn’t stop them. Maybe it’s the heat and the crammed space that are getting to them—or at least to Mako, because he would normally never do something like this. There’s nothing Junkrat would never do, especially not when it’s about sex.

            “Gonna take good care of Hoggy. Gonna make him feel so good,” Junkrat whispers, talking more to himself than to Mako. Mako has slid down a bit and taken his mask off, the back of his head against the wall. Junkrat is upside down on Mako’s belly, elbows digging into Mako’s thighs and Junkrat’s head between Mako’s legs. There is really no room for Junkrat to kneel between Mako’s thighs like he usually does, so they’ve had to be creative. Junkrat is always amazingly creative, and the upside down thing is of course his idea. He’s naked, legs spread over Mako’s wide chest, and Mako has a perfect view of his ass and balls. Mako will probably never say this out loud, but it’s a glorious sight; Junkrat may look weird, may laugh too loudly and shrilly, have too wide eyes and too patchy hair, but he has the most gorgeous ass, cock and balls Mako has ever seen (and Mako has seen a fair few). They’re smooth and hairless, just like most of Junkrat’s body, and although Junkrat is hunched over like and sort of crooked, he’s like a fucking supermodel between the legs. Another thing Mako will probably never admit to is that he sometimes gets off just thinking about Junkrat’s—well, junk. He almost had to pinch himself when he saw it the first time, and it was only his massive amounts of self-control that prevented him from dropping to his knees and worship Junkrat’s genitals like a god. But Mako has stopped worshipping things a long time ago, but if he were ever to pick that up again… Mako rubs a thumb over the back of Junkrat’s balls, and he smirks to himself when it wrenches a purr from Junkrat’s lips. Junkrat is easy to please—always has been—and Mako wouldn’t have it any other way. The first couple of times they fucked, Junkrat had been an explosion of energy, and he had come three times before Mako had even come once. Of course, it’s harder to make Mako come, and Junkrat had had no clue whatsoever how to make it happen. It had been sloppy and messy, and Mako had had to spend most of his energy teaching Junkrat how to do it. It had taken a while, and a lot of practice, but as with everything Junkrat sets his mind to, he had mastered this, too. He knows exactly what buttons to push and what knobs to twist now, and it has even happened that Mako has had to tell Junkrat to keep his hands to himself lest he make Mako come too fast.

            “Gonna make Hoggy feels so good,” Junkrat breathes against Mako’s cock, fingers (flesh and mechanical) rubbing through the pubic hair and over the meaty folds surrounding it. Mako can feel Junkrat’s tongue flick the tip of his dick, and his eyes flutter closed as he swallows down a groan. They need to be quiet, because while people might not take notice of a truck parked on the street, they will definitely take notice of a truck that’s moaning. That’s easier said done, however, and when Junkrat’s lips close around him, Mako has to actually cover his mouth with one hand. It has been a while since they last did this (seriously, why are they doing this right now?), and Mako is becoming increasingly aware of how much he’s needed exactly this, the more Junkrat’s tongue teases him. Junkrat keeps whispering, and Mako can no longer make out what he’s saying (Mako’s T dick is muffling Junkrat’s words), but he doesn’t have to, because he already knows the chant by heart. Junkrat will take good care of him, Junkrat will make him feel so good, Junkrat will look after him, Junkrat will never let anyone touch him. Junkrat considers Mako his, and he likes to list all the horrific things he will do to anyone to lays a hand on Mako. Talking about torturing and maiming people is not exactly what most people would consider normal dirty talk, but it never fails to get Mako going, but not for the reasons he likes to pretend. It has been many, many years since anyone has cared enough about Mako to be possessive over him for anyone other reason that his talents for violence and destruction. The warlords and most powerful junker gang leaders of the Outback used to fight over him, but it hadn’t been him there were fighting over, only his massive fists and ruthlessness. Their possessiveness and jealousy had stopped at his mask, and they hadn’t even thought to care about what was underneath it. And Mako had been happy with that—he had wanted it like that—right up until this twitchy, patchy kid had come along. Sure, Junkrat had been just as big a fan of Mako’s many violent talents as the others, but eventually his curiousness had extended beyond Mako’s mask, and Mako had found himself slowly, very slowly, letting Junkrat know what was behind it. He had hated himself for it, for letting his guard down like this, and to some extent, he still does, but knowing that someone—even if it’s only one person—on this godforsaken planet actually cares a little bit about Mako, not just Roadhog, is nice. And it doesn’t even matter that the person who cares a little bit about Mako is this weird, genius kid, who can’t sit still and who (after a lot of practice) gives the best blowjobs in the world.

            “Fuck,” Mako grunts behind his hand when Junkrat starts to actually suck him off. Mako can’t see anything, but he can feel it, and he can hear the wet _pop_ when Junkrat releases him every other moment. At the same time, Junkrat’s nimble fingers are rubbing, stroking, and massaging all the right spots between Mako’s legs; he does exactly as Mako has taught him, never actually dipping inside, but limiting himself to teasing and pleasuring the edge of Mako’s entrance. It’s only on special occasions that Mako will let anything inside him.

            “Just—slow down for a second,” Mako breathes after removing the hand over his mouth. He reaches down to blindly fumble through the contents of the pocket he emptied earlier. He learned many years ago to always be prepared for just about anything, and sex is one of those things Mako is always prepared for no matter how slight the chance of it happening might be. This is exactly why Mako can find a small, travel-sized bottle of lube in the pile of stuff from his pocket. He uncaps it and coats two fingers while Junkrat does as he’s told, lazily lapping over Mako’s dick with the flat of his tongue instead. He stops for a moment, though, when Mako rubs a slick finger through the cleft of his ass and over his asshole, to let out a shuddering groan. His hips twitch along with his cock that’s resting right over Mako’s solar plexus, warm, swollen, and heavy.

            “Shhh,” Mako whispers, circling Junkrat’s hole before pushing slightly against it. “You’re getting us caught, boss.”

            “Just feels really good, mate,” Junkrat breathes, arching and pushing back against Mako’s finger.

            “It’s supposed to,” Mako grunts. “Suck me off again.”

            Junkrat nods, and he leans down to close his lips around Mako’s dick again, making Mako bite down hard on his bottom lip to practice what he just preached. It’s not easy; Junkrat’s tongue knows exactly what it’s doing, and it swirls around the short shaft of Mako’s cock, rubbing in a slow, methodical rhythm that’s pushing Mako increasingly closer to climax. To try and distract himself a bit, Mako focuses on Junkrat’s pleasure instead of his own. He leans forward as much as he can, stretching his neck until he can scrape his teeth over and bite into one of Junkrat’s buttocks while at the same time pushing a finger into him. Junkrat groans around Mako’s dick, and the vibrations send shudders shooting up Mako’s spine.

            Junkrat might know exactly what buttons to push with Mako to make him come, but that goes both ways; Mako knows exactly how to curl his fingers to hit all the sweet spots inside Junkrat. He only uses one finger this time, because he doesn’t have the patience to prep Junkrat for two, and it doesn’t seem to matter to Junkrat. He pants heavily around Mako’s cock and pushes back against Mako’s finger, simultaneously fucking himself on it and rubbing his dick against the swell of Mako’s belly.

            Junkrat comes first, grunting through his nose as his dick jerks against Mako’s sweaty skin, and like the benevolent boss he is, he doesn’t move until he has finished Mako off as well. He peppers Mako’s thighs with kisses and soft whispers of all the amazing things they’re going to do together. They’re going to take over the world, Junkrat promises, and in the blissful haze of the afterglow, Mako pretends to believe him. He pretends that they aren’t either going to killed by the cops or by the many years of living in the radioactive wasteland they used to call home. Hell, they might even get blown to smithereens by one of Junkrat’s experiments. It doesn’t matter, though; Mako is going to make sure that no matter how they go, they’re going to go down in a blaze, together. It might even happen tonight, Mako thinks to himself as he hears the bell in the church tower strike midnight. He puts on his mask and gets ready. Junkrat is jittery, on edge, trembling with anticipation and wild giggles, and Mako can’t help but smile to himself behind the mask. He has been fighting to survive for almost his entire life, and yet, he can’t really find it in himself to fear death when Junkrat is climbing onto his shoulders as they burst out of the truck, gripping Mako’s harness and howling and cackling like a true junker.

            “Onwards, Roadhog, my loyal chum! Gold and glory await us!”

            “Righto, boss.”

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


End file.
